When Ørlygur arrived at Bolli, with the lamb trotting contentedly behind him, he found the widow outside the gate.
She looked at him, and then at the lamb. She had noticed that morning that it was missing, but had merely thought it had been found and taken away earlier in the day.
“Good morning,” she said in answer to his greeting. “Your lamb seems loth to leave us.”
Bagga had told her mother before that the lamb always came back every time she had essayed to drive it off with other stray sheep.
“It seems so,” Ørlygur agreed. “Can I have a word with Snebiorg?” There was a lump in his throat; he could hardly speak the name.
“She is not at home just now. We had a stranger here last night, and she has gone out to see him a little on his way. How far, I do not know. Can you guess who the stranger was?”
“I think so. Guest the One-eyed, was it not?”
“Yes. I was the first to meet him. When I left him yesterday he was on his way to you.”
“Why did you not come with him, then, and fetch your lamb? When did you fetch it?”
“But—it was here last night, and this morning it was gone.”
Suddenly Ørlygur understood what had happened. And he flushed at the thought.
“That may be so,” he answered vaguely. He hardly knew what to say.
The widow looked at him, as if somewhat offended at his tone.
“Won’t you come in and sit down for a while?”
“Thanks,” said Ørlygur. And they went indoors.
He had never been inside the house before. The little room was furnished with two beds; he looked immediately at the one which was evidently Bagga’s. Her hat hung on a nail at the head of the bed, her knife and fork were in a little rack close by. On a shelf lay her Bible and Prayer Book, with some other volumes. He dared not take them up to see what they were—they looked like collections of the Sagas. The bed was neatly made, and a knitted coverlet of many colours spread over.
He sat down on the other bed with a strange sense of being an intruder here. His thoughts were vague, but he was dimly conscious that the place was filled with the spirit and life of the girl herself. Here she lived; the little trifles in the room were things she daily touched.
The widow, entering behind him, invited him to sit on the other bed. He did so, feeling dazed, and seating himself uncomfortably on the very edge. The widow suggested that he need not be afraid of lying down if he were tired, but he declined the offer with some abruptness.